


I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

by Phanwich (LindseyStirlingite)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Character Death, Dreams and Nightmares, Drugs, I'm Sorry, M/M, Nightmares, Pain, Psychological Horror, Suffering, Suicide, degrading
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-05 03:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6687370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindseyStirlingite/pseuds/Phanwich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before I say anything about this story, I want to apologize in advance. Heed the warnings. There's no excuse for this, to be honest.<br/>---<br/>Dan never thought all his worst nightmares could come true in one day.<br/>---<br/>Warning for cursing, attempted rape, death, suicide, horror games, and overall just terrible, awful, horrific things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What's Happening In The Dark?

It's a cool, crisp night- the kind you want to hide from because it can only bring you pain. I notice clouds are covering the moon and stars, and I have to squint to see anything. I feel my shoe hit something, and I look in front of me. A large oak tree that wasn't here a moment ago meets my eyes, and I spin around, trying to find some bearing. What little light there was from the moon and stars is now completely obscured by thick foliage, and I swallow nervously. It's dark, I'm alone, and I'm hopelessly lost in a forest that wasn't here when I started out.

The only thing that could possibly make this whole thing worse would be for the girl from  _The Ring_ to show up.

"Knock on wood, Dan," I mutter, rapping my knuckles against the tree trunk.

" _Help me!_ " A terrifyingly familiar voice rips through the eerily silent night air, and I know who it is- there's only one person in the world who's capable of ever making that sound.

Phil.

"Phil!" I shout, taking off towards his voice, pushing aside branches and ignoring the ones that smack and sting my face. "Where are you?"

"Dan!" Phil cries. I turn, searching for him. His voice is right beside me- where the hell is he?"

" _Phil!_ " I scream, straining my ears, despite the only audible thing being my racing heart.

Then I see him, leaning against a tree, chest heaving in obvious pain and fear.

"Stay back!" he growls, holding out a hand as I start towards him.

"Phil, what's going on?" I ask, doing as he says.

" _You were too slow_ ," a voice sneers, forcing a shudder of fear through my body.

"Too slow," I repeat, the words making my heart beat even faster.

" _Now he will die, and so will you_ ," the unseen deity continues. My eyes widen.

"No, y-you can't k-k- _kill_ him," I stammer.

"I  _will not kill Phil, Daniel_ ," someone practically purrs in my ear. " _He will kill himself, and then you will do the same_." I stare in horror as Phil straightens up, taking several laborious steps towards me until we're face to face. He reaches into his back pocket and holds up a long, lethal looking knife and slowly points it just above his navel.

I don't even have to think about what to do next.

I lunge towards him, grabbing the handle, and try to wretch it from his grip, but his grasp doesn't loosen as he holds fast.

"Let _go!_ " Phil snarls, pulling the knife from my hand and swinging at me. The blade just barely touches my cheek, and I feel a sting sensation as I fall to the ground, helpless to stop anything.

" _Do you like that?_ " the unseen figure I'm convinced is responsible for this mess asks, and I can swear I hear the faintest trace of pride in the voice. " _A paralytic, made just for you._ " 

"No," I whisper as Phil leans down and tilts my head towards him. For half a second, I see the fear in his bright eyes, and he's Phil again, the lion obsessed twenty eight year old that cares about everyone he meets- then it's gone, replaced by a manic glaze. Phil mouths two simple words, unable to form them in sound.

 _I'm sorry_.

I can't move, can't stop him, can't even squeeze my eyes shut to stop the horrific sight of my best friend taking his own life.

"Phil," I whimper as he pushes the knife into himself, staining his familiar yellow and black plaid shirt a faint crimson. "Please- I'm begging you! Stop!"

"You're so selfish, Daniel," Phil hisses, pressing the weapon in further. "Wanting me to stay trapped in this... this  _hell_ with you, just so you don't have to face it alone. Isn't that right?" I can't answer as he collapses to his knees, hardly two feet away from me. _I could save him, I could save him_.

I  _could_ , if I could only reach out and grasp the metallic instrument that is sure to be the death of him.

"You're my best friend," I whisper, voice breaking. His scoff sends an ache straight to my heart, and he's slowly fading away right in front of my eyes.

"I am unwilling..." Phil begins, breathes ragged yet emotions still strong, "to indulge you... in your  _pathetic_ ,  _childish_ whims." He coughs, and I can see the blood, bright against his pale skin. "I will not place myself... through indefinite measures of torture... for _you_." Phil's hands begin to shake as he coughs up more blood, and I want nothing more than to look away, but I can't. " _You_ are not worth that."

His words hurt almost as much as watching him die, and I can do nothing but stare as he sways gently, almost playfully, and then he's lying on the ground, face next to mine, close enough to touch, so close and yet so far.

"I  _hate_ you," Phil snarls. My eyes meet his, and that's when I realize the truth.

This is my Phil once more. The one who would rather die than hurt someone and yet now stabbing me with words and emotion, the one who's terrified of death.

"Phil," I manage, gasping in a breath as I fight back tears.

"You could have  _saved_ me, had you gotten over all these silly,  _stupid_ fears of yours." His trembling hands drop the knife, and he glares at me, blood staining his face, his hands, his clothes, and the cold ground beneath us. "I  _hate_ you, Daniel Howell," he manages to get out one final time, and then his body relaxes, mouth slack and allowing the thick crimson substance to pool on the ground beside him, hands tangled together by his stomach, his blue eyes glazed over and unseeing- lifeless.

Dead.

I want to scream, or cry, something,  _anything_ \- I need a sense of release. Instead, a laugh forms in my throat, and the next thing I know, I'm shuddering on the ground, tears running from my eyes.

Hysteria.

I can hardly breath now, and someone's whispering in my ears, nonsensical words I can't make out and only serve to make me laugh harder. My body convulses as I choke, unable to stop the hysterical laughter that's slowly- but surely- killing me, and I gasp, clawing at my arms in a feeble attempt to regain control.

"Stop!" I cry, pinching my hand as hard as I can, but something about the pain reignites the laughter and makes it even stronger than before, and then spots are beginning to obscure my vision. The terrifying realization finally strikes.

I'm dying.

I squeeze my eyes shut, rolling into as small a ball as I can before taking in one final, shuddering breath, and I let go.


	2. I Don't Want It

I open my eyes slowly, meeting familiar, striking blue ones.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Phil chirps. "Sleep well?" I groan in response, trying to sit up. Something yanks me back, and I instinctively fight against the restraints. "No, don't do that," Phil giggles.

"Phil," I croak, voice cracking, "what the hell are you doing?"

"Taking back what's rightfully mine," he answers, and then all hints of playfulness are gone as he continues. "You." I draw on a deep breath and shake my head.

"I'm not yours, first of all," I hiss, "and, well, not to be rude, but you're dead. I'm dead. You stabbed yourself," I explain, biting my lip. "I... choked to death." Maybe it's the sadomasochist inside of me that thinks choking wouldn't be a bad way to go, but it's the first thing I think of.

"Not at all," Phil replies. "If you were dead, could I do this?" He presses his lips to mine almost wildly- definitely roughly- and I realize for the first time I'm completely naked.

I'm taking back what's rightfully mine.

The words have a completely different meaning now, and I fight against the restraints holding me to my headboard, ignoring the cuts they're slicing into my wrists with each pull.

"No, Phil!" I try to plead, but he only kisses me harder, climbing on top of me and holding my flailing body down as I pull against the ties. I bite his bottom lip as hard as I can, and Phil yanks back, anger blazing in his blue eyes.

"What the fuck was that?" he spits. I see a single drop of blood pool on his lip, running down his chin. I swallow as the memories of his hurtful words, lifeless eyes and bloodied body return, as vivid as when I first saw it.

"Get the fuck off of me," I growl. "You do not have my consent." Phil laughs, and it's nothing like the light, airy sound I'm used to- this is merciless, ruthless, and bent out tearing me apart.

"Okay," Phil agrees. "If you can undo one button on my shirt then I'll leave you. Otherwise I get my way with you." I scoff.

"That is in no way a fair competition," I complain.

"What's wrong?" Phil asks mockingly. "Can't you do it?" He holds his arms out. "Going once. Twice. You lose."

"Phil," I plead, "stop it. You're scaring me." Phil leans down and gently kisses my cheek before standing.

"Aw, no need to be afraid," he says, a faux pout on his face. It quickly morphs into a filthy grin as he adds, "I'm going to make you feel good, Bear." I cringe at the nickname, clenching my jaw as Phil digs through my drawers, looking for something.

"What has happened to you?" I screech, fighting against my bonds as Phil finds what he's looking for- a black shoe box. "Why are you doing this?"

This is not my Phil- this is a monster, bent on breaking me apart, piece by piece. 

"Well," Phil begins, "if I recall correctly, you were passed out on your bed, jeans falling off your arse like always, shirt halfway off, looking so, so beautiful- so submissive." He licks his lips. "Are you going to be good for me?"

"Fuck you," I hiss. Phil seems unfazed as he opens the box.

"I'd rather fuck you, to be honest," he replies, holding up a up a gag. I stare at it, unwilling to believe that this is what he wants, that this is what he's here for. "Are you going to be a good little cockslut bottom- the whore we both know you are?" I rip my eyes away from him, trying to hide my blush. There is no covering up any arousal today, not when Phil has my entire body on display for his eyes to look over whenever he wants.

"Only when hell freezes over," I answer, unable to hold my tongue.

"You act like you're not interested," Phil growls, setting the box down and climbing back on top of me, ignoring my obvious distaste to his weight. He runs his hand gently over my face and down my neck, smirking when I shudder.

"Because I'm not," I answer, steeling my voice. "I'm No Homo-Howell, remember?" Phil scoffs, leaning down so his lips are just barely brushing my ear.

"Do you really think I can't hear you?" he whispers. "The walls aren't that thick, and you're very... vocal. You think I can't hear you moaning my name, your stuttering voice whining and cursing? Naughty, really," he adds before pulling back. "I can only imagine the things you were doing to yourself to pull those noises from your pretty little lips." I shiver, shaking my head, eyes wide.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," I deny.

"Oh, I think you do," Phil says, his voice smooth and thick. "Do you get off thinking about me? Cum with a muffled scream of my name?" He leans in close, nose touching mine. "Do you want me, Dan?"

"N-no," I stammer. "N-not like t-t-this."

"You're a liar," Phil accuses, "but that's alright. I'll get you to admit it eventually."

"What do you mean?" I ask, a sneaking suspicion in my mind. Phil hums softly, reaching back into the box and pulling out a knife. Suddenly we're back in the forest, and he's stabbing himself, collapsing, dying. "No, Phil, put it down," I beg.

“So you don't want me, then?” Phil muses. “Alright.” He drags the tip of the knife from behind me ear, across my neck, tracing a long thin cut down to my sternum. I bite my lip to stifle a whine, and Phil grins. “Are you ready to admit?”

“I'll die before I give you the satisfaction of breaking me, Phil Lester,” I snarl. Phil seems to contemplate this for a second, and for a moment I think he'll let me go. Then a mad, manic, crazed look enters his eyes- even more so than before.

“Okay,” he says cheerfully before raising the knife above me. It doesn't take me long to figure out what he's about to do, and I try to shy away from him, the restraints keeping me firmly in place. 

The last thing I see is a horrified look on Phil's face as he brings the weapon down into my chest. There's a sharp pain, but it quickly fades.

Then there's nothing.


End file.
